


Rarely Pure and Never Simple

by eponymmouse



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Crack, M/M, background Willow/Tara and Anya/Xander, implied Angel/Buffy and Spike/Buffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-28
Updated: 2015-05-28
Packaged: 2018-04-01 17:17:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4028242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eponymmouse/pseuds/eponymmouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Angel and Spike,” Xander repeated. He seemed quite stuck on this point. “No way. Did you guys seriously—”</p><p>“Yes, a very long time ago,” Angel said. </p><p>“No, never,” Spike said at the same time.</p><p>(Or: everyone learns a thing about Angel and Spike's past.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rarely Pure and Never Simple

**Author's Note:**

> This is set very approximately in S6, so Spike is chipped and sleeping with Buffy, Willow and Tara are still together, and Giles is... magically around somehow. 
> 
> Thank you to [agedsolarwhisk](http://archiveofourown.org/users/agedsolarwhisk/pseuds/agedsolarwhisk) for looking over this! =)

“This spell will need several stabilizing points,” Giles read out, adjusting his glasses as he peered in the grimoire. “It is in fact an ancient fertility ritual—and as such, ahem. Its requirements are somewhat more intrusive that what we are used to.”

“I can’t wait,” Buffy said.

Angel glanced away from the window to look at her. She wasn’t paying him any attention, focused on Giles.

The whole Scooby Gang had assembled in the Summers living room to get the lowdown on the latest apocalypse and what to do to prevent it. Spike was here too, sticking out like a sore thumb from his spot lounging by the door.

So many other places in the world where Angel would rather be in right now. The hell dimension sprang to mind.

“The key axis of the spell is formed by two lovers,” Giles said. “Or, well, former lovers, as the case may be. The two individuals who have exchanged the most sexual energy.”

Everyone stared at him.

“Seriously?” Xander asked. “Seriously, that’s what it says? Find the ones who have banged the most—”

“Not in quite those words, Xander,” Giles said, exasperated. “But a, ah, copious exchange of—the vital flow of—well, it is in fact essential to the spell.”

“That’s really complicated magic,” Willow said. Her whole body leaned forward, as if she was a flower and the book was the sun.

Tara laid a hand on her arm—casually affectionate or casually quelling, it was hard to tell.

“Right,” Spike said, taking a decisive step to the threshold. “Well, I’m sure you don’t need me for this part. I’ll just leave you to work things out, then.”

“What? No,” Dawn said. She looked at Spike, ridiculously earnest for someone appealing to the better nature of a bloodthirsty vampire. “We need everybody, we need to decide who’s taking part in the spell and who’s going to get the—”

“He wants to leave, let him leave,” Xander said. “Don’t waste the opportunity to not have him around.”

Dawn glared. Buffy rolled her eyes. Spike, surprisingly, didn’t even rise to the bait, only gave Xander a two-fingered salute.

Giles sighed and put the book down.

“We did call everyone here for a reason,” he said mildly. “We need to see who is best suited for assuming the key points of the spell.”

Best… suited.

Angel stared at Spike, only now realizing what Spike had probably grasped a few moments before.

“Xander and I have exchanged much energy,” Anya said brightly. “We have a lot of sex. We can do the spell.”

“Go on, then,” Spike said. “Meanwhile, I’ll—”

“No,” Angel interrupted. “You should stay, but I need to go, because I need to do a… thing. I forgot.”

“Oh my god, do we suddenly smell?” Buffy said. “Is there sudden smelling going on? Why are you all so keen to leave, we just need to—”

Work out just how much sex everyone in this room had had with each other in order to see who should be the key points of the spell.

He could practically see the realization hit. Buffy’s eyes widened in horror.

Angel’s eyes were drawn to Spike almost against his will, and—

Well, go figure, Spike was also looking at Buffy. How surprising.

Angel needed to take himself elsewhere, for so many reasons. Before he lost his temper, or Spike did, or—it all went to hell, one way or another.

“Neither of you should leave,” Giles said, in a very reasonable voice. “We need all the help we can get. You’re here specifically to help us, Angel.”

“Am I?” Angel said, shooting for the same reasonable tone.

Judging by the glance Spike directed his way, he’d failed. Oh well.

Giles just looked at him. Then at Spike.

And, oh. That’s how it was, then. They were actually going to talk, in public, about an aspect of Angel’s life he’d had a great time avoiding even mentally all these years.

“You _know_ ,” Angel said, glaring at Giles.

“What?” Xander said.

“The Watchers’ Diaries—” Giles began.

“Oh, well, if the Watchers’ Diaries say so,” Spike said, apparently unable to rein in his sarcasm.

Or, come to think of it, his awkwardness, because Spike didn’t look any more comfortable than Angel did with the turn the conversation had taken.

Some things were best left in the past.

“But if you tell me it’s not true,” Giles continued, as if Spike had actually let him finish, “we will definitely—”

“Just what on earth is going on here?” Buffy asked in a voice that suggested that someone had better start giving her answers, or someone would become dust, and she had a pretty good idea of who it would be.

“Well,” Giles said, taking off his glasses and polishing them thoroughly, “as far as I have been able to determine, the people in this room who have had the longest running relationship are in fact—Angel and Spike.”

And at this point, naturally, all hell broke loose.

***

Once they’d managed to stuff hell temporarily back into the amulet it had erupted from, it became clear that the spell to end this thing had to be done as soon as possible, because next time they might wind up with significantly more damage than singed eyebrows and a broken living room.

“I hate apocalypses,” Spike said in disgust, shaking debris off his coat.

“Angel and Spike,” Xander repeated. He seemed quite stuck on this point. “No way. Did you guys seriously—”

“Yes, a very long time ago,” Angel said.

“No, never,” Spike said at the same time.

They glared at each other. Angel thought longingly that should have escaped when he had the chance. On the other hand, then he wouldn’t have been here helping with the spontaneous eruption of evil, and that might have ended badly for all involved.

It was his moral duty to stay in this room and withstand questions about his and Spike’s sexual past.

Was is his moral duty to do this sober?

Was there any choice?

“Fine, Angelus and I may have—had some history,” Spike said through gritted teeth. “But I’ve never as much as touched souled boy here.”

Angel risked a look at Buffy.

He should have known better than try and meet her eye.

“It was a _very_ long time ago,” Angel said. “I’m not sure it would even count, for the spell.”

“But I understand that you were… together… for rather a while?” Giles asked. 

“We were never _together,_ Watcher, get your facts straight,” Spike bit out. 

The way he was hunched over, avoiding everyone’s eyes, suggested that he was stuck in the same dilemma as Angel. Leaving was the obvious option. On the other hand: apocalypse. 

And Spike, no matter how much it galled Angel, no matter how incongruous it was, seemed to have actually developed warm, protective feelings towards Dawn. And feelings of a very different kind towards Buffy. 

Just thinking about it made Angel want to punch Spike in the face, which obviously boded great for their upcoming union in sorcery. 

“You were never together in the sense that we understand it, perhaps, but you had a liaison,” Giles insisted. Had to insist, Angel acknowledged, because he had a world to save, and dignity paled in the face of—whatever it was that had come out of the amulet. It had not been a good face. “How long did it last?” 

Spike just glared. Angel would have to answer this, because Angel had a soul and the soul told him that the way to redemption was paved with saving people he loved from grisly deaths. Not, say, running out the door and leaving them to be devoured by unknown evil. 

“A couple of decades,” he muttered. “Give or take.” 

“You and Spike were together for a couple of decades?” Willow asked, as Xander sputtered and Dawn made a choking noise. 

“No,” Spike insisted again, in a very annoyed tone. “We were never—” 

“There is a lot of sex to be had in a couple of decades,” Anya said. “You probably win. Of course, it depends on how often you had it.” 

“For fuck’s—often enough, all right,” Spike said. 

“But it was a very long time ago,” Angel said, feeling great kinship with broken records everywhere. “Possibly, it doesn’t even—” 

“So the last time you were together, that was a century ago?” Buffy asked in a dangerously calm voice. 

Clearly, the words _you_ and _were_ and _together,_ in that order, aimed at these particular people, were not easy for her to pronounce. 

“Yes,” Spike said. 

And then Angel’s heart sank. Because he suddenly remembered that— 

“No.” 

“What?” Spike snapped his head around, ready to tear into Angel, but froze as understanding clicked. “Oh, hell. That.”

“What?” Anya asked. “Please feel free to share the details of your bedroom escapades.” 

“Anya, no,” Xander said. “We don’t want to know those details. Our ears will never be the same.” 

Angel grimaced. “When I lost my soul a few years ago—”

Everybody except Anya and Tara recoiled at the reminder. Buffy, meanwhile, paled even further. 

“What about Drusilla?” Willow asked in a small voice. “She was, wasn’t she your—” 

“Yes,” Spike said blandly. “See, Dru and I actually were together.” 

Angel crushed the instinctive need to retort that they may have been together in Spike’s mind, but Drusilla lived on a very different plane of thought. Drusilla had welcomed Angelus back with open arms, would always welcome him back. Because Drusilla had never put Spike first, not as he had her, and if that was Spike’s version of true love— 

Maybe he didn’t say it, but thought it loudly enough that Spike ended up glaring at him anyway. 

“Is there a point to this?” Angel asked the room at large, because, well, the impromptu interrogation was not nearly as much fun as it might’ve looked. “We need to do the spell. Fine, we’ll do it.” 

“Agreeing for us both, now?” Spike interrupted, eyes flashing. “Getting ahead of yourself there, pet.” 

“I’m not your pet, Spike,” Angel said flatly, and maybe it had come out a little on the hard side, because Tara and Dawn and Giles all sent him startled glances. 

So much they didn’t understand, would never understand about his relationship with Spike, no matter what they thought they now knew. 

“Are you going to refuse?” Angel asked, staring Spike down. 

Literally down. At some point they ended up standing closer together, fielding the questions, and Angel chose this moment to tower over the bleached nuisance. 

“What do we have to do for that damned spell?” Spike asked, not looking in the slightest bit intimidated.

But Angel had long learnt to catch the notes of surrender in his voice, and they were definitely there now. Spike was going along with the plan, for better or worse.

*** 

“I hate you,” Spike said, holding Angel’s hands in his.

“The feeling is mutual,” Angel said. “But, given that I can’t get rid of you, would you maybe consider the option of shutting up?” 

“That would be doing something you like,” Spike said. “I’d rather stake you. Or myself.” 

Which was a funny thing to say while standing practically entwined with Angel in a circle of candles, with a couple of witches chanting spells behind them, and an aroma of incense drifting over the room. 

Through the smoke and the haze of the spell, Angel caught glimpses of Buffy. She stood, poised and beautiful, ready to defeat the next enemy in her path.

When the power hit Angel—when the chanting rose in a crescendo and energy started coursing through him like in a current—he felt Spike squeeze his hands, anchoring. Probably involuntary.

And it was absurd, that they were here, after all these years, decades, standing together to prevent an apocalypse. That it was the sordid passion they had once shared that was saving the woman they now both loved.

If he were Spike, he’d take this moment to point out that fate was a bitch. As it was, Angel just closed his eyes and held on.


End file.
